It's Cold Inside
by Wall Of Words
Summary: Peter Hayes is the ruthless, cruel Dauntless initiate. But there are some things in Divergent that make him seem like he's more complex and 3-dimentionsional than we get to see from Tris' and Tobias' POV. This is his story of conflict, strength, weakness, and alas... bravery. I tried to stay TTC. Rated T for violence and language. All rights to Veronica Roth.
1. Chapter 1

When I was younger, my grandfather was my hold on sanity. He did this more effectively than anything or anyone else. Ironically enough, he was legally insane. And, being Candor, we never failed to tell him so. Ever.

The glory of being a part of the Candor faction - no lying, no tact, no withholding.

It was nice, I suppose. It's hard to think that way now. But when I was younger, I was sure I would stay in Candor. I felt comfortable in the black jeans and white flannel shirt I wore everyday. It felt right to know what everybody thought of me. And it was a freedom, of sorts, to be able to tell others everything that came to my mind.

But when I turned seven, my sanity lifeline died. His mind stop controlling his involuntary actions, and so his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing, and his body stopped working. They said he died in seconds.

My parents cried; I locked myself in my room for a week. My bed clothes got soaked with blood from the cuts I made on my arms.

If I were being honest about it, I would say that I, in fact, did not cut myself because of sentimental reasons. And since I'm Candor, that's what I should've told people. I should've told them that the real reason I cut myself that week was because it was the beginning.

The beginning of something that had always been there, but never really shown. The beginning of something terrible. The beginning of me. The real Peter Hayes.

But I couldn't say that. I was insane in a subtle way. And without my grandfather, I had no one to remind me why I had to keep fighting it. No one was there to show me why I couldn't let myself slip. And so I gave in. And I suppose that in a way, that's when I started to care about things - caring about how to get through life, and how I could come out where I wanted to be - the top.

It was when I was seven, too, that I learned that the very thing that held our faction together was the very thing that made it gullible. And I could use that to my advantage.

That's when I started lying. I planned it all out, like an Erudite - figuring out how I would have to look and act to be convincing.

Our parents teach us all what small signs a person will show when they're lying. It's a major part of growing up in Candor. And what better way to learn to become the perfect liar than to study all the signs that give you away?

I started lying about small things. Like about my cut up arms, and my false grief. But over time, my lies got bigger - about worse things. I lied about my homework a few times, I lied about whether I stole a jacket from some classmate in school. I lied about whether I tripped kids, or got into fights. I lied, and lied, and lied. Just one, big, long, string of lies.

By the time I was thirteen, my lying was faultless, and of course everyone believed me anyway because I was Candor. Ha. Idiots.

There were only two people that knew about my lying - Molly and Drew. But I lied to them too. It's easy with them. I don't even have to try to look normal when I lie, because they're two of the world's biggest idiots.

We all had something in common though - we hurt things.

But they were different. They didn't hurt humans. Not really. Molly liked to torture animals, and Drew was always there to laugh at people's trips and fall, in his weird silent way, but they weren't like me.

No. No one was really like me. Except maybe my grandfather. He seemed to have a bit of the same urge that I have. But he was 6 years long gone, and I had something else to worry about: The Choosing Ceremony when I turned sixteen.

I knew I would never join Amity or Abnegation. I am not friendly or kind. I laugh at people's faults and envy their successes. I am not selfless. I hurt people; I don't help them.

And I knew I couldn't join Candor because I would have to tell all my secrets. And I could never do that.

That left me with Erudite and Dauntless.

Intelligence and Bravery.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't really know when I started considering my life to be just one long tally of whom owes whom. But by the time I was thirteen, I realized that life was just a survival game.

The factions were no more than different versions of that game - different rules. Certain preparations during initiation, and then the same game for the rest of eternity.

The question was which game did I want to play?

Which rules was I willing to follow?

Which preparation did I need - did I want - to help me survive the game?

To come out on top of it all.


	3. Chapter 3

I sit at the Candor table - at the end with Molly and Drew, so we don't have to talk about all the stupid things the Candor debate about.

Today is the aptitude test, and I still don't know which faction I'm going to join. Even after three years of consideration.

Erudite is not a bad choice. I have a good enough grade-point-average, and I don't mind learning things. I could fit in.

Dauntless would certainly prepare me physically to survive. I would fit in, even with my cruelty. I'd heard whispers about Dauntless initiation. Combat, Guns, Fear. Yes, I could fit in Dauntless. But I am not brave. No, I could never be brave.

"Hayes, Peter." Someone calls me into a room. I get up and Molly gives me a small smile. I don't return it. She and Drew think they know me, but they don't.

No one does.

Not even me.

I enter the room, and there is a complicated chair contraption with wires and screens and a bunch of other things. A man from Amity motions me towards the seat.

"Please, sit down." He says in a soft, soothing voice. I move towards the chair and sit down, resting my head on the head rest.

"Perfect, now I'm just going to attach these to your forehead, connecting you to the machine, so we can get started. It won't hurt, and once you drink this - " He hands me a shot glass with some orange liquid in it - "I'll put you in the simulation."

He presses the electrodes to my forehead. I'm surprised an Amity would administer my test. The Amity and Candor are often antagonistic.

But I don't really care. I have nothing against Amity lies. I'm a liar myself.

The man nods and smiles at me, "Go ahead and drink it." He says, in a tone like a father finally giving a son permission to go out with a group of friends.

I hesitate. What will this tell me about myself? Do I really want to know? But I have no choice.

I down the liquid and there's nothing in left in my mind.

Blank.

I close my eyes, but something tells me I need to open them again. I open them, and I'm in the cafeteria and it's empty.

I frown. It shouldn't be empty. But the thought quickly leaves my mind.

There are two baskets on the table in front of me. One has a hunk of Swiss cheese and another has a long knife over a foot long.

"Choose." A voice says. It's a cold, female voice. I glance around to see who's talking. No one is here. I frown again. How can there be a voice if no one's here? Maybe it's a memory of a voice? Yes, that must be it. That makes sense.

I stare at the baskets again. An Erudite might choose either option. A Dauntless would take the knife. I take the knife and the baskets disappear. I frown again, staring at the empty table. How could the baskets disappear? There must be some kind of illusionary mechanism or a kind of trap door. That makes sense. Yes, that would work.

A sound behind me disrupts my musings. I turn, and a dog the size of a bear with black, black eyes and shaggy brown-black hair takes a step forward. My heart speeds up and my eyes widen. The knife I had in my hand clatters onto the cafeteria table. The dog-bear growls at me and I can't pull my eyes away from it's abyss-deep pupils.

In the back of my mind, I remember that staring into a dog's eyes is a sign of aggression, and instigation for a fight. I force myself to tear my eyes away and try to calm down.

The information is rushing through my head. The human body secrets adrenaline, also known as epinephrine, when in danger. This directs the cellular focus on the body rather than stomach and other digestive organs. Canines can sense the hormone secretions - the same secretions exhibited by it's usual prey. So, if I calm myself down, the sympathetic nervous system will cut off that hormone secretion, so the dog won't consider me prey.

I suck in breaths through my teeth. I screw my eyes shut, and my hands ball up in fists at my sides.

_What are you afraid of? There's nothing there. You're being stupid. Don't you see how stupid this is? Don't you know it's not real? It's just a game. A game. Nothing can actually hurt you._

A soft breeze blows against my shirt. Where is the breeze coming from? I open my eyes to see, and the dog is right in front of ne. _It can't hurt you. It' can't hurt you_. It licks my shirt. I shudder, but it doesn't seem to notice because its tail starts wagging and its tongue is soaking my clothes with saliva.

How long it is going to do this? Why it is here in the first place? I look around at the cafeteria, hoping for some kind of clue. A girl is a white dress is running towards me. "Puppy!" She screams in excitement. The dog bristles up and turns on the girl. It runs towards her, it's teeth bared.

I don't think - I act.

I grab the knife off the table and throw. The dog screams; a high, savage sound and the girl is screaming and crying. I move to the dog, wrench the knife out of the dog's body and stab again - in the heart. I can see the canine anatomy diagram from my biology book underneath my eyelids. I stab the dog again, in the main artery in the neck for good measure. The dog's screams of agony cut off.

"Bloody beast." I tell the dead animal bitterly, and then smirk at the unintentional pun. I laugh, even. The girl finally shut up, and looks at me curiously. I continue to ignore her. I don't care about her.

I don't know why I killed the dog. But right now, I need to laugh. I need to show that I am not broken. They can do anything they damn well please, but they won't break me.

The only thing that I will allow to break me is myself.

I close my eyes and cut off the laughter, which is balancing on the edge of hysteria. I need to calm down. I need to get control. I take deep breaths and open my eyes. I'm at a bus stop. How did I get here? I was just at the cafeteria-It must've been a dream. A day dream. The bus pulls up and I get on and move towards the back for a seat. A man hidden behind a newspaper grabs my arm, pulling me up short. I jerk my arm out of his grasp. The man is in a black and white suit - a Candor. Good. I can say whatever I want to him.

"What the hell!" I tell him. He doesn't react. Instead, he points to a picture in the paper.

"Do you know this person?" He demands. I glance at the photo. It's a picture of a man with a round face and bulky body. My mind tells me that I know the man. My faction manifesto tells me I should say so. But I've been lying for nine years. My mouth doesn't even consider telling the truth.

"No." I keep my hands steady, my face blank, my eyes straight. My body knows exactly how to move. Exactly how to deceive.

"You're lying." The man accuses. I'm startled by his ability to see through my disguise, but I've been in this situation before. I harden my face, ice over my eyes, and say in an offended tone - like any Candor accused of lying would- "Lying? I'm not lying! Lying is the epitome of all evils! Lying is what destroyed our world!" I shake my head with disgust. "I told you I don't know the person. That's the truth."

The man looks convince, but he adds one last comment. "If you know him, you could save me." It's said softly, hopelessly. I grit my teeth together.

"Huh." I walk on and sit down in the back of the bus.


	4. Chapter 4

I jerk awake with a start.

It smells faintly like blood, and I look down to see that my fingernails dug into my palms; my blood has caked over the crescent shaped cuts.

The Amity man tugs the electrodes off my head, not quite smiling, but no quite neutral either.

"You're a good liar." He says pleasantly. I should be insulted. I should say something cutting at his remark. Instead I stay silent.

No, I could never be Candor. I don't talk enough. I lie too much.

My parents will be somewhat disappointed. I don't think they really care that much. Not honestly. Of course they'd say they do, but I suppose even Candors lie sometimes. The difference is that I know I'm lying, but my parents - and Candors - have lied to themselves so subtly for so long they don't know it's fiction. So is it still a lie if you don't know your lying?

The Amity man diverts my attention from such thoughts. I stare at him silently as he stands in front of me, his hands clasped. He's obviously waiting for me to ask about my test results - like any Candor would do.

I don't say anything. I just stare at his brown and red outfit, which reminds me of the blood matting in the dog's hair when I stabbed it. Blood on the ground, on the knife, on my hands. My fingers twitch into fists and I have to concentrate to relax again.

"Your result - " The Amity man says finally, realizing I'm not going to say anything, "is Dauntless."

I don't feel relieved, or annoyed, or even sad. I feel blank. Like I'm learning facts that I need to memorize for a test.

"You took the knife, a sign of aggression. You stabbed the dog to save the girl - a sign of bravery."

Ha. Like he knew why I stabbed the dog. I wasn't think about her. No. I wasn't thinking at all. I stand up to go. The man touches my arm and I flinch away. I don't remember when I started disliking unnecessary human contact. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything about it.

Instead, he tells me, "I suggest you strongly consider Erudite, as a faction. Your knowledge about the dog, and your studied movements when lying - they suggest great intelligence."

"How can you have an aptitude for two factions? You said I was Dauntless." I demand, feeling confused by his implications.

"You are Dauntless; Erudite was a close call. Remember that he test result doesn't mean anything. You have a choice. You are what you want to be. You can belong if you want to belong."

I try not to sneer. This man doesn't know who I am, what I am. He doesn't know that I don't belong anywhere.

I leave the room, and the man's words echo in my head. _You can belong if you want to belong_. I stare at myself in the hallway mirrors for a minute. I see a boy with black hair and wide, green eyes. Innocent eyes, my mother calls them. The only innocent part of me. The only Candoric aspect. I hate them.

I hear the Amity's words in my head again. _You are what you want to be_.

But I'm not. No one is. You are the way you were shaped and formed. You are the way you're made.

At sixteen, you can't suddenly change that mold. The roots are too strong, too deep.

I leave the hallway and sit down at the Candor table. I know where I will go in my life. I know what I will choose. There is no other option. There never really was. I always knew. I also know, as Molly and Drew come out of their tests, that they will follow me.

Despite their test results, which I am sure turned out to be as expected - Candor. They may have stabbed the dog, but they would've told the truth in the bus. They are not liars. Not really. Deep down inside, they are and will always be Candor.

We believe in truth. In black and white. Fact and fiction. The scale of life.

_A/N: Is Peter realistic enough? I'm trying to just give a deeper idea of who he is as a person, rather than just as the ruthless initiate Triss knows. But, at the same time, I'm not trying to make him sympathetic or horrific or anything. Just realistic. After all, he _is_ cruel. Nothing will change that._

_Please review, favorite, follow etc! Thanks :) WW_


	5. Chapter 5

The Choosing Ceremony takes place at the top of the Hancock Building. We take the elevators to the top, crammed in together with some other Candor like a can of sardines. I'm edgy, which is a bad thing, because that means I'm also itching to hurt someone. I trip an Amity girl as we walk past - just a small sweep of the foot to the back of her heel. Just hard enough to tip her off balance. She wobbles precariously, comically, on one foot and stumbles back a few steps. I fight to hide a smirk. It's fun to watch people struggle. It's a powerful thing to be cruel, to be able to hurt people. I'll feel guilty later, but it won't change anything. It's like a drug. If you don't do it for a while, it feels like you're suffocating - like you're dying. And you have to release the energy. But the more you do it, the more you need it. Just a powerful drug within your own mind. I stand with Molly and Drew. They would return to Candor if it weren't for me, I'm sure. But my power over them is strong. I'm the cruel, dangerous, awed, and feared leader to them. And I've used it to my advantage. Only now do I wish I could ditch them. Wish I could tell them to take their own paths and leave me to start a new life, but that will never happen. They feel secure with me, after all these years of manipulation. I could've told them to join the wrong faction. But then I would be stuck with Drew, and if I'm going to be stuck with one moron, I might as well bring both so they can keep each other busy when I don't want them. I also wish I could use some subtle movement to tell them what faction I'm joining. It would've given me more time to think everything through, consider what I'm doing and what it will lead to. But they're too stupid for that. I told them last night, as we burned Candor symbols. We threw a wooden scale, a Candor flag, and a copy of the Candor manifesto into the bonfire. A final, physical rebuke of our faction, our home. I don't listen to the Abnegation leader's introduction. I don't listen as they start calling names. Molly's name is towards the beginning: "Atwood, Molly." She goes up, slices her palm, and quick spills her blood in the bowl. Nearly a third of the way through, someone calls "Hayes, Peter." The Abnegation leader gives me a small smile as he hands me the knife. He has interesting eyes - a dark blue with some lighter spots. And in those eyes I can see that he is not Abnegation through-and-through. He is pleased with his life, with himself. And I can also tell by the slight glimmer in the back of his eyes that he is in pain. Not the pain you feel because of a total loss, but the pain of disappointment and retrospective sorrow. I take the knife and move towards the bowls. I know where I will go from here. I also know that I cannot honestly choose any of the factions. The earth of Amity. I do not believe in kindness. I am a cruel, cold person. I hurt others for enjoyment. The glass of Candor. I do not believe in honestly. I've lied for nine years. Nine years, and I do not plan to stop. The water of Erudite. I hesitate at the bowl, already a pale brown-red color of sacrifice. I do not believe in knowledge. It simply aids me. Another tool. I move on. The grey stones of Abnegation. I do not believe in selflessness. I do not help people, I hurt them. I don't serve people, I use them. The burning coals of Dauntless. I do not believe in bravery. I do believe in strength, but that's not the same thing. I slice into my palm. I don't believe in any of it. I don't support any one faction. I'm factionless. I push deeper in my hand, remembering how I sliced my arms to shreds those nine long years ago. The blood wells up on my palm, threatening to spill over. I'll have a scar, to remember this decision. This new life. No, not a new life. A new chapter. Just a continuation of the survival games, with new rules, new ways, new faces, new cruelty. I let my blood sizzle on the coals, the smell of burning blood filling my nose. And I stand strong. I feel myself freeze inside. I will be Dauntless. I will never be brave, but I can be strong. Strong in my own, cruel way. 


End file.
